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Regan pulled out a tray of muffins and poured each of the twins some milk. After a few protests, she managed to usher them over to the living room, and they settled in to watch a TV show.
“Your dog only has three legs.” Wyatt leaned down to scratch the little dog behind her ears. “What happened?”
Regan leaned against the counter, cradling a hot mug in her hands. “No one knows for sure. Bella was found on the other side of the lake, and best we can guess, she was hit and lost her hind leg.” At the sound of her name, the little dog wriggled away from him and ran to her owner. “No one wanted her.” Regan scooped up the little dog and kissed the top of her head. “So I adopted her. No way could I let her be put down.”
“Lucky dog. Not many folks would take on an animal with injuries.”
“Honestly, I’m the lucky one. She’s the sweetest little thing.”
She glanced up then. Gone was the dislike. The dismissiveness. The cold arctic blast and the guarded look. Her eyes shone, their depths glimmering with a vulnerability that wasn’t expected. It was gone just as quickly as it had come, but it made him wonder about all the other things she kept hidden.
As if realizing she might have revealed more than she wanted to, Regan cleared her throat and let Bella down. The little dog scampered toward the kids and settled between the two of them, angling for any crumb they let fall.
There was an awkward silence as the two adults watched the kids.
“So, how’s your father doing?”
Wyatt swung his gaze back to Regan. “He’s okay.” With a shrug, he set his coffee down. “I guess.”
“You guess?” She seemed surprised by his answer. “Haven’t you talked to him?”
“We don’t talk much.”
“But aren’t you staying with him?”
“Hell no.” He shook his head. “We wouldn’t last one night under the same roof. Last I heard, John and Darlene were thinking of heading to Florida for a few weeks.”
She held her mug and looked at him. “They’re not going.”
That surprised Wyatt. “That’s news to me.”
“Well, your father…you know he’s had health issues.”
“I do, but Regan, I didn’t come here to talk about John Blackwell.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. But he saw the wheels turning, and suddenly, he realized this whole thing—him coming here—was a mistake.
“Why do you call him John?”
“Why do you care?” he shot back.
“I don’t. I was just trying to make conversation.”
“Yeah, well, my dad is off-limits.” The anger that burned just beneath the surface boiled over, and Wyatt glanced away. He had to take a few moments to get it under control. “I’m sorry. He and I…” Wyatt sighed and drained his mug. This wasn’t turning out the way he thought it would. “I should go.”
She didn’t move to stop him, and that only added to his blackening mood. W
yatt headed for the door and shoved his feet into his boots. He grabbed up his plaid jacket, slipped it over his shoulders, and said good-bye to the twins. Both were engrossed in some show about dinosaurs, and he wasn’t even sure they heard him.
“Thank you.” Regan hung back a bit. “It was nice of you to give us a lift home.” She shifted her feet. “I’m sorry if…” She sighed and shrugged. “I didn’t know your father was a sore subject. I just assumed…”
That got his hackles up. “Assumed what?”
Her chin shot up, though she was silent for a few moments as if deciding what to say. Her wide, expressive eyes pierced him. Wyatt took a step back, uncomfortable with the notion that she could see right through him.
She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear—she had long, elegant fingers—and then she spoke. Her voice was soft, so damn soft…
“He talks about you boys.”
